


Something Beautiful

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Series: front row seats [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s Branching Timeline, Alternate Reality, Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Branching Timeline Theory, M/M, Making Up, Minor Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Steve POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 12:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18717442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: In one universe sideways, it’s 2012 and the Avengers have just defeated Loki and the Chitauri. Steve Rogers, who has been out of the ice for almost ten years, wonders if his retaking the shield for this event was a one-off, or if he’s ready to keep it again. It depends on Tony.





	Something Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> For (a spoilery) explanation of the minor Steve/Peggy, please read the end notes.

Steve isn’t sure whose idea it is to have a party, afterward. It doesn’t sound like Fury or Hill, and definitely not Bruce. Natasha and Clint are unlikely. Tony’s a little more likely, but in the aftermath of the portal closing and his survival from the fall, he’d only babbled about getting shawarma. Steve would’ve been fine with shawarma, for just the six of them. It might’ve been a quiet, shared exhale after battle, where they’d been at each other’s backs and _it worked_ , so much better than any of them could’ve imagined.

But there’s a party tonight in Stark Mansion, upstate. A revelry, as Thor calls it, which is apparently so much of an honor that the Asgardian returned to Earth after delivering Loki and the Tesseract, just for this. That’s reason enough for Steve to make the effort tonight, mingling with the dozen or so friends and family and colleagues.

“If you don’t feel any effects of alcohol,” Bruce’s saying to him, “then what about coffee? Or other stimulants?”

“I do enjoy coffee,” Steve says, “but it’s probably just psychological at this point.”

“If that’s the case, shouldn’t there be a psychological effect of alcohol?” Bruce says. “I mean. I’m just asking.”

“It’s a good question,” Clint says.

Though a Stark abode is tonight’s venue, it’s not in the style of Tony’s infernal distractions, i.e. the parties of too loud music, too many people, too much smoke and liquor. A revelry it may be, but it’s subdued and informal; respectful of the lives lost, even as it it celebrates what has been achieved. Steve wonders if this is in part because Tony’s mom is the hostess, having opened up her usually-quiet home for the night.

Maria Stark’s across the room now, her arm linked with Fury’s. Steve would think them queen and king presiding over the court, if he didn’t know better. The pair are chatting with Selvig and Natasha; Selvig appears to ask Maria to dance with him – only a handful of pairs have taken the open floor space near the speakers, Thor and Jane among them – but she demurs.

“We’re gonna need a shit-ton of selfies,” Clint says, taking his cellphone out. “Where’s Tony?”

There’s no reason that the mention of Tony would have Steve’s stomach flipping. Steve saw him a mere few hours ago and, hell, they’d spent almost two days in each other’s presence Tesseract-chasing – working together and fighting each other and ultimately fighting the bad guys in order to save the world.

This, at the very least, proves that despite everything that happened last year with Vanko and Hammer, they _can_ work together, under the right circumstances. Or under that one specific greater-goal circumstance that gave validation to Fury’s Avenger Initiative that had been years in the making.

“He’s probably dealing with PR,” Steve says.

“God, yeah,” Bruce says, shuddering. “At least one of us knows how to handle that.”

“Hey, _I_ did not vote for Tony to be our spokesperson,” Clint says.

“If Tony’s involved,” Steve says, “there’s usually no vote.”

Clint nods. “You’d know.”

Steve stiffens. Clint doesn’t mean anything by it, because he’s just pointing out what everyone here knows, i.e. that of all the Avengers, Steve’s known Tony the longest, thanks to the connecting tissue of Peggy and Howard. Not that Steve can in good conscience say that he and Tony are friends. In the past, sure; in the future, maybe. But not right now.

“I’m going to say hello to some… Yeah, excuse me.” Steve doesn’t glance back, and doesn’t try to identify whatever look passes between Clint and Bruce as he goes.

He nods at people as he walks, but keeps moving around the perimeter of the room until he reaches his goal. It’s a small seating area of upholstered chairs arranged in a half-circle, with Peggy in a place of honor.

“Bucky’s getting me a drink,” Peggy tells him, her smile a knowing one. “I do have it under control.”

“Never doubted for a second.”

At her urging, Steve takes the empty seat next to her, and tries his best not to look as if he’s checking her over. Peggy’s strong, but since her last stroke she’d rarely left home, and even when she did, it’s always been in this wheelchair. When Steve heard from Fury that she’d come down to the city yesterday, he’d thought it a joke. Though now he wonders if it was part of Fury’s plan to get the team to gel just in time.

Peggy must read the concern on his face, because she says, “Everything turned out all right.”

“It might not have,” Steve says quietly.

“You were here,” she says, with far too much faith. “Of course it would have.”

Steve doesn’t mean to laugh. But even now, near ten years on – or near seventy years on, depending from where one’s counting – Peggy can still disarm him, drawing honesty while barely even trying. He shakes his head, ashamed and only more so when Peggy brings a pale hand to rest on his.

“This is a historical moment, Steve,” Peggy says. “I’m grateful to be here.”

“That I’m in the red, white and blue again? It’s just an outfit.”

“Perhaps. But oh, what an outfit.”

“Director Carter,” Steve admonishes.

Peggy’s smile is still beautiful. “Former-Director, I believe is the correct term, Captain Rogers.”

“Is this man harassing you, Former-Director?” Bucky says, sidling up behind Peggy. He’s brought two drinks, one of which he places on the tray along the bar of Peggy’s wheelchair. “’Cause I can do something about that.”

“Hey, I just helped save the world, give me a break.” Steve takes Bucky’s arm in a welcoming clasp, though his grip is far looser than it would’ve been once. Bucky joins them, settling in the chair on Peggy’s other side, and helps her with her drink. (Her husband should be here, too, but Steve tries not think uncharitable thoughts about that.)

“Just another Tuesday for you, I would’ve thought.” Bucky’s cut his hair again, shorter in the sides this time, which shows off the grey at his temples. “What’s another war stopped, right?”

“Ha,” Steve says.

“Though aliens in New York gives it a twist,” Bucky says. “You keeping the shield?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Steve means it as a tease, falling back on what’s become a running joke between them. Sure, he’s retaken the shield a couple of times since coming out of the ice, but all those missions had been in shadow, and he’d always given the shield back. (He’d told Coulson that other people can use it, but the man was stubborn.) As far as the world’s known, Captain America died near the end of World War II, and that was it.

This time, though, people saw him out there with the cowl, colors and shield. A Captain America, but not _the_ Captain America, and Steve knows that they can still rely on the cover story of a legacy if they need to.

And as long as Steve fades away again.

The Avengers, though. An idea that’s finally leapt out from the drawing board and into reality – that’s new, fledgling, full of potential. Today was a successful test drive, and they’d be fools not to follow up on that. Well, Fury, Tony, Natasha and the others would be fools not to follow up on it. Strengthen the team, develop tactics, find new members – and that’s just for starters.

Speaking of Tony, there he is. A late arrival, which would be typical of him, except this time it doesn’t seem intentional – he has the air of the harassed and one Phil Coulson on his tail. Tony ends up foisting Coulson on Hill and Natasha, and when finally free, turns to scan the room, his eyes hyperalert behind his yellow-tinted glasses.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Steve says, standing up.

“Of course,” Peggy says. “Do come back and regale an old friend with a Chitauri battle story or two before the night is over, though?”

“Please kick my ass if I don’t,” Steve says.

“We’re holding you to that,” Bucky calls out to him.

Steve moves quickly and with purpose, his eye on the doorway he knows leads to a corridor, and a bathroom just off from that. He tells himself it’s not cowardice, but forethought. If he talks to Tony now, it’s just going to lead to an argument, which would ruin the party, and get Peggy and Bucky worried about him all over again.

Not that Peggy and Bucky ever stopped, Steve thinks ruefully. He loves them and doesn’t begrudge them a single thing – Peggy founded SHIELD and has a family of her own, Bucky turned out to be far less dead and only a little battered from Hydra’s machinations – and all of that is a dream made real, by every single measure. Sure, Steve woke up out of step with them and the rest of the world, but that’s not their fault.

Peggy doesn’t think so. She’s tried her damned best to hide how she blames herself, for calling off the search for him when they found the remains of the Valkyrie sans his body, only for him to get picked up a couple of decades later by a research vessel. She’s decided that she has to carry that and no one will convince her otherwise, so it’s only fair that Steve doesn’t let her see, well… everything else that’s going on with him.

The most important of which, right now, is the bullshit with Tony.

Steve makes it to the bathroom. It’s not occupied, but he double-backs down the corridor, along another route Tony’s mother showed him once, back when Howard was still alive, to the library.

The door isn’t locked, and the long room within is dimly lit by the garden lights outside the window. Steve fumbles for the nearby lamp – an old-fashioned one, as Maria so prefers – and switches it on. A decent hiding spot.

But Steve’s luck isn’t so kind today. Or maybe he’d just used it all up battling the Chitauri. The fact is, he’s in the library for all of five minutes before the door opens again and there’s Tony, peeking a head in.

“Why are you hiding?” Tony says.

Steve swallows a sigh. “It’s what I do best.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Being a pain in my ass is what you do best.” Tony slips in and closes the door behind him. He’s down to his shirtsleeves, glasses gone and tie flipped over one shoulder. The pang in Steve’s chest is completely unnecessary, though it worsens when Tony approaches, his smile almost maniacal in its enthusiasm. “Steve? Steve. Look—”

“When needed,” Steve says. “The Avengers Initiative means having a roster to be called in _when needed_ —”

“How is that efficient? It’s not. It’s foolish and foolhardy. Look, _Thor_ is game for making this a thing. Not right now, admittedly, because he still needs to settle Loki’s trial or something like that, but he’s got a soft spot for Earth, and we’re on the cosmic radar now—”

“Doesn’t mean you need me.”

“Of course it does. You’re our leader. I know it’s…” Tony pauses, blinking, as though just at that moment registering that Steve isn’t being restrained for the heck of it, or to rile Tony up. Doubt flickers for a second, but then it’s squashed, firmly and decisively. “I was there, Steve. I saw you. You stepped up, you were in your element.”

“Oh? Does that cancel out the fact that we were ready to strangle each other not 24 hours ago?”

“That was just the scepter messing with us.”

“No,” Steve says. “The scepter brought out what was already there. You meant what you said—”

“That’s not—”

“—that I’m a has-been who can’t let go. It’s true, and you were right to say it. And—” Steve adds quickly, before Tony can cut in, “—I meant what I said, too.”

That, at last, brings Tony up short.

It’s unkind, Steve knows. He’s only ever seen Tony this excited a handful of times, and this being the rare occasion where it has something to do with Steve. If Steve were a better person – or a worse person, depending on how one looks at it – he’d hold on to that and let Tony build and dream and build, and fold him into that dream. A year ago he would even have let Tony do it, and draw him in with all his shiny new ideas.

“You meant it.” Tony nods, thoughtful. “All right. That’s fair.”

Steve grits his teeth. “You’re not listening.”

“No, no, I am. You’re right. I _am_ a liar, and selfish, and untrustworthy. I’m just surprised you didn’t get a dig in there about being the Merchant of Death.”

“Because that’s not an issue anymore.”

“Exactly. I’ve dealt with that, so I can deal with… everything else. Work in progress, yeah?” Even in the poor light of the library, Tony’s eyes glitter. He’s focused and sharp and so very _alive_ , though there are those who’d argue that he’d already been all these things before Afghanistan; before the arc reactor, and Iron Man. But they’d be wrong. This is not the man Steve met years ago, chafing under an elderly Howard even as he’d took his side in the epic falling out Steve had with his father.

It shocks Steve even as it humbles him. Make no mistake, Tony’s still as annoying and irreverent and impossible as he’s ever been, but he’s on a new trajectory now, clear as day and just as bright. Tony’s on his way up – soaring into the sky, into the future, into the greatness of the universe. Steve, a relic of a time gone by and just as superfluous, would be glad to watch it from afar.

“We work well together,” Tony says. “You can’t deny that.”

“Only in the fight, when there were greater things to worry about,” Steve says. “And in the future, whenever there are greater things to worry about, I’ll be there. I’ll always be there. But that’s completely different from being in a team.”

“I know you’re into the whole nomad thing, but it’s a different world now. This is bigger than anything, bigger than _us_. We’re the first two Avengers, and now everyone knows it. Sure, Fury gave us the kick, but we’re not SHIELD and never have been. We can set the rules, call the shots. We have to.”

“You can do all of that.”

“May be, but I need you, too.”

“That’s just it!” Steve shouts.

Tony jolts in shock. They’ve yelled at each other many times, countless times, but Tony clearly hadn’t expected it now, like this, today. Especially not after how they’d fallen into beautiful sync out there, their battlefield dance so easy it was as if they were made for it. Steve gets why Tony’s so damned thrilled, practically glowing from the high of a job well done and the hope of future jobs to be done. He gets it, and he’s happy for Tony, but that’s it.

“You need the shield,” Steve says, keeping his voice level. “You need Captain America. Not me.”

“But you are—”

“Listen to me for fucking once, Tony.” Steve unclenches his jaw, and does his best not to read too much in Tony’s stupidly large brown eyes. “You.” He reaches out, a fingertip tapping hard against the surface of the arc reactor – Tony’s heart. “Not the world, not the Avengers, not anyone else. _You_ don’t need _me._ ”

Tony’s lips are parted slightly, though no words come out. He stares at Steve, and surely that brilliant mind of his cannot fail to understand what Steve’s saying here. Oh, Steve knows how it works in the 21st century, and especially with people who grew up the way Tony did. There’s no judgment; just acceptance at a misalignment of expectations, which Steve is pretty much an expert at these days.

“That’s why I can’t be on a team with you,” Steve says.

“Steve, I’m sorry. You know I’m sorry, you know why I—”

“Yes, I know and I understand, but it doesn’t matter,” Steve says simply. “You were dying, and you didn’t tell me.”

“Okay.” Tony nods rapidly, processing. “Okay, yes. I made a mistake, there’s no excuse. All I can do is move from that, be better. That’s all you’ve been telling me – be better. And I am, I’m trying!”

“Yes, I see that, and I’m proud of you.” Steve smiles, this time enjoying the startle in Tony’s face. “You’re going to do great things.”

“With you,” Tony says, because he’s not given up the habit of trying to outstubborn Steve.

“You were dying. You don’t even understand what that means, do you?”

“I wasn’t thinking straight—”

“Precisely. You weren’t thinking.”

Steve stops, breathing deeply and vibrating with anger he doesn’t want nor need. It shouldn’t feel this fresh, not after months of staying out of Tony’s way until he couldn’t and they’d ended up in Germany together to take Loki out, but there goes Steve’s habit of not letting things go. One would think it would be helped by Steve’s other habit of not talking about things, supplemented by Tony’s habit of pretending that inconvenient things didn’t happen, but there it is.

“You know what I’ve lost,” Steve says, “what I’ve had to leave behind. But you were going to let me watch you die without giving me a chance to help you.”

“What,” Tony says, mouth quirking into a joke that has Steve’s hackles rising even further, “you’d miss me?”

“Yes, I’d miss you, you asshole,” Steve snarls. “I know it didn’t mean anything to you, but that’s what happens when you don’t _tell people things_. The arc reactor was slowly killing you, you had nothing left to lose, so might as well get your kicks with Captain America, right? Good for you.”

Tony stares at him. “It... didn’t mean anything? Are you—what? Of course it meant – I was dying, Steve. You’ve died before, you know what happens when you see that in front of you. What do you think of? _Who_ do you think of?”

Tony’s mouth snaps shut. He ducks his head, swallowing convulsively.

That sounds like an admission, but it can’t possibly be one. Steve knows Tony, has watched him struggle in the aftermath of Afghanistan – two steps forward and one step back – and has felt vicarious joy at Tony’s starting to carve out this new path for himself. Steve just barely remembers what that felt like himself – gaining the serum, learning what he could do, _then doing it_ – but it’s right that Tony should find his way here as well.

Other people have said that Tony becoming Iron Man came out of the blue. They’re wrong. Even at his worst, there was always something about Tony. A spark that Steve could see, even if he didn’t understand it; old guard recognizing the new, perhaps.

And it is because Steve knows Tony that this new piece of information doesn’t fit, whatever it is.

“I’m. Yeah,” Tony says weakly. “You’ve every right to be mad. But you’re wrong that it didn’t mean anything.”

“What?” Steve says.

“I mean. When I flew through the portal earlier, I asked JARVIS to call you. No reception. Sorry.”

“You were thinking of me?”

“I’m always thinking of you.” Tony shrugs, careless, as if he hasn’t just tossed Steve’s world on its axis all over again. “All of this – it’s for you. Make the world better, so you’d want to be in it. Make the Avengers, so you have a place that’s yours to define.”

“Because you want Captain America back.”

“Who’s not listening to who now!” Tony snaps. “I’ve never cared about Captain America, you know that! I thought that’s the first fucking thing I got through your thick skull!”

“I, yes—”

“This is how I apologize! I do things, I make things! I know I’m not there yet, but I’m working on it. I’m…” Tony deflates. “I’m working on it.”

It’s true, Tony does choose action in lieu of apology, never mind whether intention comes through said actions or not. Steve stares at him while various memories from a year ago slot into new context: Tony in his risk-taking downward spiral, the birthday party that went wrong, in the aftermath of which he reached out for Steve and was surprised when Steve kissed back. They made love twice that night – once quick and hot, the second slow and lingering – and in the morning Steve woke to cold sheets of an otherwise empty bed.

It wasn't too long after that that Natasha told Steve about the palladium poisoning. Steve still doesn’t know if Nat knows he and Tony slept together, but if she does, she’s the only one. What was there to tell, anyway? It didn’t matter. Obviously Steve misread, and that night was just another careless act of a man who believed he was dying. After they'd all defeated Vanko and his drones, there was no question about Steve's getting the hell away. Tony let Steve go, too, and that made sense because Tony wasn’t dying anymore. There was no point in Steve being mad at Tony for lying (or offering something he was never going to give) was just a waste of time and energy.

That was what Steve thought at the time, anyway.

The scepter only brought out was already there: the argument they’d never had but needed to, whittled down to its hardest truths.

Isn’t it _just_ like Tony to not let on that all of this has been going on with him, all this time? He would’ve continued to say nothing, too, if he could get away with it. Even if Steve said yes and stayed with the Avengers, and they had to work together every damn day together, Tony would have said nothing, and Steve would have known nothing, and Tony would have worked alone to some invisible goal of atonement that only he knew about.

“When I say I need you—” Tony’s voice cracks, and with it Steve’s resolve, “—I mean it, Steve. I need _you_ , in every way possible. Just. You know. No pressure.”

Steve moves first, but Tony sees it coming, head tilted, lips parted. They crash into each other, a reprise long overdue, Tony’s mouth hot and wet and demanding against Steve’s.

Steve had wanted to kiss Tony earlier, when the Hulk caught him after his fall through the portal. Hulk lay Tony down but he didn’t seem to be breathing, and in Steve’s mind a little notch slowly scratched its way across the mental list he keeps there – here it is, another regret, another lost chance – until Tony gasped, awake and alive. Steve could’ve kissed him then but, miraculously, limited himself to a squeeze on Tony’s gauntlet that he’s not sure Tony even felt.

All the feelings that Steve tamped down at that moment, are apparently still here. They’d been bottled up but are now loosed, in the Steve way he grabs Tony, drags him close, kisses him until he can’t breathe. Tony’s totally on board with this and more, arms over Steve’s shoulders and shoving him up against a bookcase that rattles against Steve’s back.

It’s fantastically, dizzyingly, deliciously good. Tony is incredible, feels incredible – he’s alive and vibrant and writhing in Steve’s arms. _Thank you_ , Steve’s whole body seems to be saying. _Thank you._

Through the haze of want comes a sound. Someone coughing.

Steve pulls back. Tony protests with a whine and a nose-wrinkle, though he frowns when he registers that Steve’s attention has shifted elsewhere.

They’re not alone in the library. Partially hidden in shadow, an elderly man now steps forward, a hand lifted in embarrassed greeting. Steve stands up straight, though he doesn’t let Tony out of his arms.

“Oh,” Tony says. “Hey, GC.”

“Tony,” the man says. “Rogers.”

“Mr. Carter,” Steve says.

“I’m very sorry.” Peggy’s husband rubs a hand at the back of his neck, apologetic as all out. “Should’ve said I was in here earlier but, um…”

“It’s fine.” Tony’s beautifully loose-limbed now, and drops his head distractingly onto Steve’s shoulder. “I’m going to tell Peggy, though.”

“Yeah,” Grant says with a sigh. “I should… leave you gentlemen to it.”

“No, we’re going,” Steve says.

Tony frowns at him. “We are?”

“You’re still the host,” Steve says.

“No, Mom’s the host.”

“You already got here late. How much you want to bet she’s—”

“Fine, fine.” Tony wriggles out from Steve’s arms, though Steve stays close, keeping a hand on Tony’s waist as they move together towards the doorway. Tony may be at ease, having practically forgotten about the interruption, but Steve keeps Grant visible at the corner of his eye.

The man’s staring. When Steve looks at him properly, Grant schools his expression into polite sheepishness but Steve knows what he saw: bewilderment.

“Okay,” Tony says, once the library door’s closed behind them. “So you’re thinking about it? The Avengers?”

“I’m not going to answer that right now.”

“Not now? Not even…” Tony slides his arms over Steve’s shoulders, probably trying for tempting but just coming off as a man whose birthday has come early and _boy oh boy_ he can’t wait to unwrap his presents. “You need some convincing?”

“There’s a lot we need to talk about first,” Steve says.

“Ah, that.”

“Don’t ‘ _ah that_ ’ at me,” Steve says, though he can hear the affection in his own voice. “I’m not throwing myself into anything unless we take steps to ensure we won’t make the same mistakes. All right? No more. That means you, too. You need to stop keeping everything to yourself.”

Tony holds his gaze, as daring as Steve’s ever seen him. “You first.”

“Sure,” Steve says. “Here’s how it is. You’re my friend and I care about you, and it turns out it takes just one small step for it to become more that. And there’s going to _be_ more. So if you want me involved in this Avengers project, you need to know that I won’t choose between being your teammate and being your partner. I’m going to have both. Do you understand?”

It takes a second for Steve to realize that Tony’s holding his breath. “Yeah,” Tony says. “I understand.”

“Do you?”

“I understand that I’m gonna ask Mom if you can bunk over tonight so we hash out all the nitty-gritty.” Tony leans in, bumping his nose against Steve’s and grinning when Steve deepens his scowl. “And, like I said, the Avengers are _ours_ to make. Me and you. We set the rules.”

“All right.” Steve smacks Tony’s hip lightly. “Now go back to the party. I’ll catch up.”

“Seriously? No one cares what…” Tony backs off good-naturedly when Steve gives him a look. “Okay. I better see you out there in five.”

“You will.”

Steve watches him go.

The view is superb, but it doesn’t distract from the implications. An hour ago the Avengers were a good idea; right now it’s _still_ a good idea, but it’s Steve’s possible standing in it that has changed. He’d been so fixated on why he couldn’t do it, that it’s only now that he’s letting himself properly contemplate the work needed for. It’s the shield and cowl and colors, but everything else. Stepping back into the public sphere, and letting himself be seen.

It’s easier to take that step forward when there’s someone’s hand to hold, isn’t it?

The door behind Steve creaks open.

He turns, and Grant freezes in the doorway, awkwardness permeating off of him. Steve offers an arm to help, but Grant waves it off with a smile.

Steve tries not to notice, honestly he does. But Grant’s having trouble meeting his eye, and though Steve doesn’t give a shit what people think of him, he won’t let that stand for Tony.

“We’re not ashamed,” Steve says. “There’s nothing shameful about what Tony and I have.”

“Of course not,” Grant says, far too quickly. Behind his thick glasses his eyes are pale blue and watery with age, and they’re wide where they meet Steve’s. “I’m just embarrassed to have intruded on a private moment, that’s all.”

“Mm-hmm.” Steve’s glad to have Peggy in his life, but this guy, her husband, is such a cypher. No one knows who he is or what he does, and he’s rarely seen in public, not even when Peggy was still with SHIELD. Steve can count on his hands the number of times he’s talked to the guy, but he knows that he’s a good man – he must be, for Peggy to choose him. Even so, there’s something slightly _off_ about him, and it sets Steve’s teeth on edge, like a finger trailing on a cosmic wineglass that no one else seems to hear.

Steve used to wonder if Peggy kept them apart on purpose. He knows that it can’t have been easy for the guy, and all the jokes about Peggy having a type must’ve cut to the quick. So Steve tries to be decent about it, and _consciously_ tries to think unmalicious thoughts every time he meets the guy. Yet every single time the man’s in front of him, a silent alarm in Steve’s brain screams: _he’s a fake._

Like now. The guy’s trying to appear kind, understanding, and the direct opposite of close-minded. But there’s another layer there just underneath, of carefully-controlled surprise and thoughtfulness. As though the simple idea of Steve and Tony – Steve _with_ Tony – is something to be contemplated. Measured.

“I’ve made a habit of disappointing people since I came out of the ice,” Steve says as he starts down the corridor. “Just keeping up with that, I guess.”

“No, Rogers,” Grant says, with such urgency that Steve stops in his tracks. Steve turns, and Grant’s face – the split-second flash of raw guilt there – makes him double-take. “You’re not a disappointment to anyone. Anyone that matters, I mean. Not Peggy, or Bucky, or – anyone else.”

Steve hums, non-committal.

“You and Tony are…” Grant smiles. “I’m happy for you both. You’ll be amazing.”

There’s that kindness again, plus the elusive deeper layer. It’d drive Steve mad to think about it, so he shouldn’t.

Better to look on the bright side. After all, if he’s going to go the distance with the Avengers – with _Tony_ – then he’d better get used to this. There are worse people than Grant Carter to come out to.

Steve nods. “Thank you.”

When Steve returns to the party, his eye finds Tony easily. The man’s in what appears to be a raucous debate with Bruce, Selvig and Thor, which seems almost on the verge of a throwdown. Steve hangs back, and picks up a drink from a nearby table to give his hands something to do.

Peggy called this a historical moment. Steve hadn’t agreed or disagreed, but he tries to view it again with that in mind. What they’ve accomplished today, what they can accomplish in the future. What the world needs – protection from harm, but also heroes to inspire. Steve remembers being able to offer that, once, but he’d done it mostly alone, and more as a symbol than a person.

It’d be different now.

Tony’s noticed him. Steve straightens up as Tony approaches, heart twinging in his chest. There’s an interesting moment where Tony’s gaze drops to Steve’s free hand, which is down by his side. Steve doesn’t think he’s being obvious, but this Tony, after all. He won’t push, but he sees, and he offers just enough in case Steve wants to bridge that distance.

Tony makes a gesture – a joking salute, inviting their captain to join them. Steve rolls his eyes and takes that hand, twining their fingers together. Tony’s face of mock outrage lasts all of two seconds, and then he’s pulling Steve forward, into the thick of the room and all the rest of it.

“You with me, Steve?” Tony says, voice low and meant only for him.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m here.”

Steve can do this. Hell, even if he can’t do this, he can still try.

**Author's Note:**

> OriginalTimeline!Steve went back to see Peggy in the 1940s, got together with Peggy in the 1960s after they failed to find AlteredTimeline!Steve, and they are still together in 2012. But this fic is primarily about AlteredTimeline!Steve, who came out of the ice in 2004 and is entangled with Tony instead.
> 
> [Tumblr post!](https://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/184664649311/another-endgame-related-fic-something-beautiful)
> 
> This fic isn’t meant as a criticism or support of Steve’s choice to timetravel to be with Peggy. As far as any piece of canon goes, we roll with it or ignore it, and for this fic’s purpose, I rolled with it. PEACE


End file.
